


What's in a Name

by thebigbengal



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Battle City Arc, Canon Compliant, Doma the Dark Organization | Waking the Dragons Arc, Gen, Memory World Arc, Missing Scenes, Mother-Son Relationship, References to Season Zero, because that's what I'm familiar with, english dub names used, snippets across the entire show, something of an AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26549566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebigbengal/pseuds/thebigbengal
Summary: Learning that your body and memories aren't your own can be a bit of a mind screw. It gets harder when you have to keep up appearances as the son of a woman that's not your actual mother.
Relationships: Mutou Yuugi & Yami Yuugi, yami yuugi & mutou yugi's mother
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	What's in a Name

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this as a way to fulfill my want for Yami to interact with Yugi's family.
> 
> To be honest, I never liked how easily Yami dealt with this big revelation of being a dead Egyptian pharaoh with no memories of his old life. So I gave him an angst upgrade, complete with identity crisis.
> 
> Enjoy!

His memory chucked out the actions of slipping out of bed and stumbling to his feet in the dead of night, his tired mind rousing already halfway down the hall and at the top of the staircase. Someone left the kitchen light on, which was a relief, because Yugi woke up for something and he wouldn’t have to fumble for the switch while he tried to remember.

Yugi. That was his name. Yugi Mutou, fifteen years old. The name did not escape his mouth, but perhaps it’d stop sounding so strange in his head if he spoke it aloud. Like how a word loses its meaning the more you say it, he wondered if you could do that with your own name. Only something about it didn’t feel familiar. Bits of his brain classified it as foreign and beyond its capacity to comprehend. His own name. Odd.

Feeling his way down the stairs, his hands sliding across the wall, a seated figure appeared in his peripheral from around the corner.

“Yugi? What are you doing up?”

He lept back, nearly falling to the floor. He grabbed hold of the banister and caught his breath while the single kitchen light revealed the face of his mother. Gentle eyes worn by insomnia, a small nose, and messy auburn hair typically obsessively straightened with an iron.

“Wh-what,” he rubbed his eyes, “What are  _ you _ doing up?” He said, half to her, half to himself.

“I asked you first.” She put down her coffee mug and walked up to him, his head meeting her shoulders.

Hana. Forty-three years old, forty-four in December. She loved mystery novels and her disco records. When he was ten, he stayed home for a week sick with pneumonia, and she never left his side. 

He shook his head to hop off that train of thought. Why was all of this suddenly coming to him? He already knew those as simple facts. Yet they effortlessly flooded into his head as he scanned her face. How embarrassing it would be to forget his own mother.

She tilted her head and placed her hand under his chin, pushing it side-to-side to check for any discoloring. Yugi pulled away. “Mom, I’m fine.”

“Really now? Well what are you doing up?”

“I wanted a glass of water!”

“Then I’ll get it for you.” She calmly turned to the kitchen sink and filled a glass with tap water. “You know, you’ve been acting very strange lately. Is there something you want to tell me?” Then handed it to him.

“No,” he said with the glass between his lips.

She already knew about Ushio, and yes, his ribs still hurt from that beating. Mom gave him a nice long grounding for sneaking out, then complained to the school board for letting that student go unchecked. Not that Ushio would be continuing his bullying anytime soon. 

Yugi felt a dark urge to chuckle when he thought of Ushio’s terrified face, screaming endlessly of demons as they hauled him away while the teachers and police tried to figure out what happened. Joey and Tristan went home, dazed and bruised, but for the last time by that bully’s hands. 

“Are you sure?” she pressed, “Is it about school?”

“No.”

Her voice softened. “Is it about your father?”

“No, mama, I just wanted water.” Another train of thought approached, of his dad, and recognizing it’s inherent unhappiness, scrunched up his face to forget. 

“What about those two boys? And Téa. Are they nice to you?”

He frowned at her for asking and implying they were being anything but. “Yes. They’re nice.”

“ _ Nicer _ ?”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

Joey and Tristan, once, were not so different from Ushio. How Yugi had been so exceptional at hiding his bruises and down-trodden spirit after every school day amazed even him. He could have said something sooner. Why didn’t he say something sooner? Being the kid that sicked his mother on his school tormentors isn’t exactly an honorable look. You have to take that sort of thing into your own hands.

Thankfully, they proved to be better people underneath than just shallow knuckleheads.

And Téa… Once an elementary school friend, she always presented herself with nothing short of a pleasant smile and friendly intent. But it was just intent. Until recently, she was only an acquaintance that drifted away over the years. Yugi wanted to scrunch his face again.

She sighed. “Alright then,” and nodded to the staircase, “You should get back to bed.”

“Mama,” he nervously asked, “Am I your son?”

Hearing it said aloud made it sound all the more ridiculous, but he dearly hoped, against the most inane irrational feeling in his gut, that the next words out of her mouth would be, “Of course.”

“Now what kind of question is that?”

“I’m… sorry. Forget it.”

“If my memory serves me right - and it absolutely should,” she quirked her mouth to a grin and ran her thumb down his blonde bangs, “you were not adopted. We took the right baby from the hospital. I never let you out of my sight. You are mine.”

“Okay.” He nodded. She reached out when he finished the glass and he hesitantly handed it to her. Then, as if betraying himself, he fell in for a tight hug.

“Alright,” she laughed, “Now get back to bed. Don’t think I’m just going to let you stay up all night.”


End file.
